


On The Difficulties of Being a Virgin in Faerie (Together with a Solution Thereto)

by Nothingshire



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M, Pillar of Darkness, kink meme prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothingshire/pseuds/Nothingshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Norrell's virginity is a prized commodity in Faerie and puts him in danger of abduction and worse. Mr Strange is determined to find a solution to the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One of the many curiosities of living in the Pillar of Darkness was the question of food. Mr Strange and Mr Norrell had exhausted Hurtfew Abbey’s supplies after a little time behind the sky and then faced the question of how they were to live. They were in no danger of starving to death but their stomachs did not know this. The result was that they were always hungry and this state made both of them a little snappish, particularly Mr Norrell who relied on his evening chocolate rather more than he cared to admit.

Fortunately for both gentlemen’s temper a solution provided itself. Mr Strange was standing one evening (or morning, or afternoon – it made no practical difference what it was called) contemplating the pear tree in Hurtfew garden and wondering if he could stand the belly ache that would follow one more of its sour fruits, when he heard by the little bridge that spanned the River Hurt the pleasant tinkle of silver bells. When he looked over, it was to see a fairy wagon drawn up on the other side of the stream and the fairy himself alighting with a full wicker basket over his arm.

“Eggs, bread, coffee and chocolate, magician,” the fairy called across. “I have bacon, cheese and walnuts as well.”

Mr Strange refrained somehow from throwing himself bodily into the water and splashing across to claim these treasures.

“What do you want for them?” he asked. “And bear in mind I am not making any bargains that include ‘tokens’ or ‘my heart’s desire’ or something that ‘I have always possessed but never valued’ et cetera.”

“A pear from the tree will do it,” said the fairy. “I will use the pips to start an orchard and then have the wood for my own purposes. Magician, you are powerful and mad. Believe me I would not dare trick you.”

Strange thanked him and hurried to take the basket. He paused – “none of these items are enchanted are they?” he asked through a watering mouth.

“Of course not, sir,” said the fairy with dignified hurt, although Strange could not help but notice that he quickly removed the walnuts and placed them in his pocket.

Since that first encounter, whenever the food ran out, Strange would take a stroll down to the bridge and find the fairy waiting with all manner of pleasant comestibles. All he ever paid was a pear and he grew quite fond of chatting with his new acquaintance. The fairy, whose name was John Bloodbolt, always supplied whatever the magicians required and would stay for a little while to tell Mr Strange of how well his orchard of pear trees was flourishing, of his three wives and numerous children both fairy and Christian.

Mr Norrell sometimes accompanied Mr Strange on these little expeditions. Whenever he did so, Mr Strange gave him the important responsibility of staying by the tree and plucking the pear. Mr Norrell never demurred – there was a mutual understanding that Mr Strange should undertake all their dealings with fairies.

One day, as Mr Strange reached out his hand for the basket of food, and held out the pear, John Bloodbolt smiled and said –

“Magician, I will give you the food for nothing if you will answer me one question. When do you mean to sell your treasure?”

“My treasure, sir?” said Strange. “I do not understand you.”

“Why, the other magician of course,” said Bloodbolt. “He is at the very peak of perfection now. Do not keep him too long from market and let him spoil. You will get the greatest price that way.”

Strange turned to where Mr Norrell was contemplating the pear tree. “Cease these riddles and speak as plainly as you can,” he said with no very great hopes of understanding the fairy anyway.

“His purity, magician,” cried John Bloodbolt. “Surely even a stupid English magician must realise how valuable any Christian virgin is in Faerie? A virgin magician is even better. And a virgin magician who regrets his virginity but can do nothing to alter it now – why, that is a pearl, sir, a prize without equal!”

Mr Strange had not given much thought to the question of Mr Norrell’s personal appetites but had he been asked he would have agreed that the housemaids of Hurtfew Abbey (or indeed the footmen) were unlikely to have found themselves troubled by midnight summonses to their master’s bedchamber. Now he found himself considering the matter in rather more detail than he wished when it came to another gentleman and worried that Bloodbolt’s interest in the matter meant trouble and danger for Mr Norrell and of course himself.

“What makes you think that he is innocent?” he asked with a desperate air. John Bloodbolt smiled.

“I forget how blind magicians are,” he said and held up a curious little monocle for Strange to point at Mr Norrell and look through.

When Strange held the monocle up, he saw that his onetime tutor was surrounded by a gentle amber glaze almost completely without crack like the varnish on a fine piece of furniture.

“You see, sir,” said John Bloodbolt in his ear, “That amber in itself is enough to purchase all the kingdoms of The Nine. You see that here and there are small darker marks? Those are from his younger years where he was sometimes troubled by his choice to shun the pleasure but quickly drowned such thoughts. But see on the outer edges those little fissures coming through like lightening in a summer sky? Those are more recent. They show that he now wonders more and more often if the sacrifices he made were worth the magic he gained – if something he thought would be repulsive might in fact have pleased him. Those are the marks of regret and they make him a treasure fit for the court of King Oberon.”

What can have made him regret? Thought Strange to himself. He turned back to the fairy.

“You say that you want his - his innocence. You mean to divest him of it somehow?”

“Oh no magician,” said John Bloodbolt. “It would be preserved with the greatest of care. Why do you think that I need so much pear wood? Pear wood is very suitable material for the cage that I will keep him in. Once I have him, well – he will warn me of the approach of my enemies by bleeding from his hands. I shall use him to discover hoards of buried gold. And if my three wives and children require entertainment, why, we may torment him with his own regrets and use his tears in a thousand different spells!”

“Mr Norrell is not for sale,” said Strange “and if you attempt to take him anyway you will come off the worse. You are aware that we are the only two magicians to have killed a fairy in five hundred years.”

“Accounts differ on that,” smiled John Bloodbolt. “But you have not heard what I offer in return. I know that you wish to go back to your own miserable world and your quarrelsome wife. Suppose I were to tell you how you could do it?”

“I would suppose that it would be a trick, sir or that I would find myself returned as a green pig or some other such jape,” said Strange. “And even if you were to tell me true, a gentleman would not agree to such a bargain.”

He turned on his heel and marched back across the bridge.

“I shall return with more eggs, and will hope to find you in a better mood, sir,” John Bloodbolt called behind him. “And remember I may not be your only customer and some of my cousins will not be so polite or observe such etiquette as I have done.”

“Have you quarrelled with him, Mr Strange?” said Mr Norrell in surprise as his companion took his arm and began to lead him into the house. “Have you got my chocolate?”

“He tried to sell me a pineapple, sir,” said Strange. “Come; let us go back to the library.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mr Norrell was a little ruffled at being marched away so briskly and went up to his own rooms when they reached Hurtfew. He perhaps began to wonder if some reoccurrence of Mr Strange’s Venice madness was at hand and if he would again find himself thrust up against a wall contemplating what liberties were to follow. But when he ventured down to the library, it was to find a very tranquil and pleasing scene. There was a pot of chocolate on the table, with no books near it (the books had reappeared in the library when Hurtfew passed on to the other side of the rain).There was a little bowl of candied walnuts as well. Best of all there was Mr Strange, hair brushed neatly and with a winning smile, sitting with a book in front of him, the very picture of a learned magician and pleasant companion. Mr Norrell sat down and was pleased to accept a cup.

“And what do you study so earnestly, Mr Strange?” he asked.

“Well sir, I have been studying accounts of abduction into Faerie,” said Strange, gazing at the wall behind Mr Norrell’s head, as if in abstract contemplation. “Has it ever struck you that certain types and natures of people were more in danger of being carried off than others?”

“They were always very fond of the beautiful and handsome, according to the old ballads.”

“Indeed, but I mean something more. Consider this list of those taken from Northumbria in but two months in 1312. A young girl of three, a Nun, several priests, a maiden on the day before her wedding who had been kept in the greatest seclusion by her family and only allowed out to Church. A venerable old gentleman who had sworn never to marry or to even touch another lady when his sweetheart died at sixteen. Does it not strike you sir that all these people may have had some quality in common?”

“No, Mr Strange, it does not,” said Mr Norrell, although if Strange had been gazing at him directly he might have seen a small pink mark begin to form on Mr Norrell’s cheek.

Strange sighed and marched on in a manner that the Duke of Wellington would have admired.

“Well, sir, several of these people had taken some sort of vow to always deny themselves earthly pleasures and the rest never had an opportunity to decide whether they wanted them at all. And when I say pleasure, I am referring to the most common of all such pleasures, the one that every famer and his wife or sailor and his sweetheart may indulge in.” He gazed ever more desperately at the far wall. “Furthermore, sir, it has occurred to me that you yourself, thanks to your admirable devotion to the cause of English Magic, have also denied yourself a great many ordinary indulgences – a wife for instance, a child to dandle on your knee, a companion to comfort you in times of...”

“Enough, Mr Strange, I see what you are about,” said Mr Norrell. He rose, quite red, pulled a book from a far shelf and placed it on the table in front of his former pupil.

“On the Difficulties of Being a Virgin in Faerie,” read Strange, aloud.

“What did John Bloodbolt offer you?” said Mr Norrell quietly.

“Nothing of any matter, sir.” 

“It was the way out of here was it not?”

“It was a lie or a trick whatever it was, sir. Put it out of your mind,” said Strange.

“Perhaps I might take a turn in the garden to clear my head,” said Mr Norrell with a studied air after a pause.

“A walk, sir? You, sir? To the pear tree and the bridge beyond where John Bloodbolt will undoubtedly be waiting? No sir.”

“You do not think that we might at least negotiate a little with him? Perhaps he would take something lesser in return for giving you an answer.”

“Indeed Mr Norrell,” said Strange. “Perhaps he would content himself with two thirds of your innocence and you might stay here with the rest. No, your well known abilities at bargaining with fairies aside, I will not allow you to make such a sacrifice, even if I thought that it would give me the answer I wanted – which I do not. I would never agree to return home on such terms. Now sit down, sir.”

Mr Norrell did so with a sniff and a turn of the head. “I will not go, sir, since you are carrying on so. But suppose he comes to me or one of his rivals does? Am I to live under the constant fear of fairy abduction? We never know what new world may arrive on our doorstep situated as we are.”

“No sir,” said Strange, “For there is a very easy and obvious solution to the problem and I will be perfectly happy to supply it.”

Mr Norrell blushed so deep that even his wig seemed in danger of changing colour. “You would not find that utterly distasteful?” he muttered.

This was something that Strange had considered for himself as he was waiting in the library and he was able to give Mr Norrell an honest reply.  
“Not at all - you remember that I was in The Peninsula? What impressed me most about the army was the importance of comradeship between the men, how they would do anything for each other to ensure that their fellow soldiers were safe and able to continue to battle. As I see it, you are my comrade and friend in a kind of war. I should be happy to aid you in any way, including this. Moreover I will not find it repulsive and I flatter myself that neither will you. The thing to do is to be very matter of fact and brisk and then the whole business will be over very quickly – well, not that quickly – but certainly soon enough not to distress you.” 

Mr Norrell hesitated then nodded. “I am sorry to put you to the trouble, though, sir,” he said. 

“Then let us begin,” said Strange and clapping an arm around his fellow magician’s shoulders, he led him out of the library and up the stairs beyond. He was always excited for a new enterprise and this promised novelty at the very least.


	3. Chapter 3

At the top of the stairs they turned not left to Mr Norrell’s room or right to Mr Strange’s but went straight ahead into a little bedchamber that had been prepared some time ago for a guest that would never enjoy it.

Mr Strange, very conscious of his greater experience in these matters began a stream of pleasant chatter which he hoped would settle any nerves Mr Norrell might have. He walked about the room, remarking on the pleasant wallcoverings, the colour of the carpet and any other nonsense that occurred to him for a few minutes until he realised that Mr Norrell had not made any reply and turned to see what the other was doing.

His first thought was that a stranger had come into the room. Mr Norrell stood before him but not as Strange had ever contemplated him before. The older magician had undressed completely and piled his clothes carefully on a chair but what struck Strange most was that this was the first time that he had ever seen his former tutor without his head covered by either a wig , a hat or a cap.

It was a decided improvement, Strange thought. With only his own dark cropped hair Mr Norrell’s face appeared somehow both older and younger, the eyes larger and less suspicious, the nose and chin very pleasingly shaped. Why did he wear such ill-fitting clothes, thought Strange, letting his gaze fall lower? If only Mr Norrell would stand straight and not hunch then his square chest would be better displayed. As for his thighs and calves, even the harshest of fashionable critics would have declared them well shaped. If the other man were not standing with his hands clasped protectively in front of him, no doubt Mr Strange would have admired other parts as well.

As he stared, Mr Norrell blushed and ran for the bed where he settled himself with the blankets drawn up to his chin. Strange determined to join him directly and began to remove his own clothes. At first, he threw them about the room in his haste. But the bright glances and shy looks that Mr Norrell was casting him from the bed made him slow a little to enjoy the other man’s obvious admiration. Once he was quite naked, indeed, he could not resist for a moment striking a pose rather like the one that he had adopted in the celebrated double portrait of the two magicians by Sir Thomas Lawrence. But the bedchamber was a little chilly and he did not want to spoil the effect by lingering, so he scrambled onto the bed and under the covers.

Once there, after a little polite, silent negotiation, he settled down with Mr Norrell’s back pressed against his chest and his arms around Mr Norrell’s middle. Strange had been truthful when he said that he did not find the thought of what he was about to do repulsive but he had wondered how it would be when he was actually in the bed. Now that he was there he found it very pleasant to feel warm skin against his own after so long without it; very pleasant to feel the small solid body pressed against him, firm for the most part but with areas of delightful softness. Still, there was the problem of how exactly he was to begin. Luckily, Mr Norrell answered that by squirming and laughing a little in his arms.

A laugh is not always a welcome sound for a gentleman in such a situation. But Mr Strange found that the unexpected chuckle recalled to him the happy days of his first friendship with Mr Norrell, when his tutor had delighted in talking of magic with him and the spells that they should cast together.

“What is it sir?” he smiled into Mr Norrell’s ear.

“I am sorry Mr Strange,” said Mr Norrell, “it is your, I mean – this.” He bent a hand back to touch Mr Strange’s chest.

“The hair?” said Strange.”Oh, you mean you are ticklish, sir.”

“Yes, perhaps I should have mentioned that,” said Mr Norrell. “There are several places which I must ask you to be particularly careful in touching. Childermass was always very good about remembering them when he helped me to dress.”

“Please, instruct me sir,” said Strange in a polite tone which a more experienced man than Mr Norrell might have trusted a little less.

So Mr Norrell did his best. But it seemed that his onetime pupil was particularly stupid that day, for wherever the older man indicated that he was especially sensitive, there Mr Strange’s long clever fingers were sure to stray, often for quite some moments and despite Mr Norrell’s best efforts to correct him. This in itself was difficult for Mr Norrell given that he was attempting to speak through the constant laughter that Mr Strange’s efforts provoked. In the end he was forced to defend himself by grasping Mr Strange’s hands and rolling that gentleman over on his back, a surrender that Strange was pleased to make as he was shaking with mirth himself.

“You had only to ask me to stop, sir,” said Strange, marvelling at the soft eyes and flushed cheeks of the man who leant over him. “But perhaps we might attempt something else now.” He felt under the pillow and removed a small bottle of oil which he had tucked there when he got into bed.

Mr Norrell sank down by his side. “I am ready to proceed,” he whispered.

“I see that we are both at that stage,” said Strange with a smile. He uncorked the oil and began to apply it first to his hand and member and then to his companion’s.

“Oil? Will it not stain the sheets?” said Mr Norrell though he made no protest as Strange’s fingers closed gently on his prick.

“The oil will be the least of it, I am afraid,” said Strange. He rolled Mr Norrell onto his back and knelt above him. “Now sir, do not worry. Let us simply move together and use our hands and bodies to please ourselves and each other as we may.”

Mr Norrell nodded. “As you wish,” he said. “But – Jonathan – please be aware that I do not have your experience or your stamina. It may be that I will not be able to sustain this as you do or give you the pleasure that you give me or...”

“Do you remember when I first came to you as your pupil Mr Norrell?” answered Strange. “Before we had fallen out, when I had no idea at all of what abilities I had and very little way of controlling them? How many times did I make a misstep or do something clumsily when I should have been more careful? But you were the kindest and most patient of tutors and never rebuked me. Be assured that I shall show the same gentleness and patience with you at all times.” 

“Promise to be freer with your knowledge than I was to you sir and I shall be perfectly satisfied,” said Norrell. Then Strange kissed him and began.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning (or evening or afternoon) Strange woke with a yawn but also the feeling that he had rested very well. Mr Norrell lay sleeping beside him. Strange planted one kiss on his shoulder, contemplated the empty bottle of oil with a chuckle and left in search of a hot bath and sustenance.

When Mr Norrell joined him in the kitchen a little while later he found his companion eating a great plate of fried bacon and eggs, together with a large pot of coffee.

“I hope I find you well, sir?” said Strange

“Very well,” said Mr Norrell with a bow. Strange saw that he was neatly dressed down to his wig. “I have some work that I should like to attend to in the library. Perhaps you will join me when you have finished breakfasting. And attended to the dirty plates.”

“With great goodwill, sir,” declared Strange, spearing another egg.

When he entered the library, he found Mr Norrell seated at his desk with a long sheet of paper before him, rather like the plan of study that he had drawn up for his pupil some years ago.

“Already at your books, sir?” Strange remarked, perhaps a little disappointed that the events of the previous evening had not been mentioned.

Mr Norrell looked at him over his spectacles. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Mr Strange, are you willing to discuss what occurred...”He blushed.

“Indeed,” said Strange. He came to stand by the desk. 

Mr Norrell adopted his most formal air.”Mr Strange,” he began “First let me thank you for your efforts of yesterday. I realise that I had no right to expect you to undertake such a task and I hope that completing it was not too tedious for you.”

“Not at all, sir,” said Strange. “My pleasure was as great as yours, I hope.” He reached over the desk to clasp Mr Norrell’s hand. The older magician flushed but did not withdraw it.

“Be that as it may,” he continued. “We must remember that our purpose is to ensure that I am not abducted because of my particular – qualities. Now, I must ask you straight – in your opinion as a – a man of the world and a gentleman, were the acts that we indulged in enough to ensure that I am no longer – of interest to fairies.”

Strange forced his lips not to twitch and then replied. “That is an interesting question, sir. Some might say that any such contact would destroy your innocence especially given that there were at least two of what we might call pleasurable conclusions. Others might argue that there are many more acts with which two gentlemen may please each other and that if you had not undertaken at least the majority of them, well you might still be in danger.” He paused and studied Mr Norrell very carefully from under his brows. “My advice, I think sir, is that we should be cautious and perhaps continue this field of study a little further.”

“And you would have no objection to that?”

“None in the least, Mr Norrell.”

“Very well,” said the other. He withdrew his hand and pushed the long paper to the middle of the desk so that Strange might read it.

The younger magician saw that it was divided into four vertical columns. The first was labelled “Acts”. The second column was headed “S/N” and the third “N/S.” The fourth and final was labelled “Notes & Reviews.”

“This is how I suggest that we proceed,” said Mr Norrell. “This first column here will be a list of all the acts that we can think of - I will rely on your greater knowledge and experience to fill it. This fourth column will allow us to make notes of what effects various acts produce and where they might be improved. This will ensure that we proceed in a proper scholarly fashion and not in some haphazard search for pleasure.”

“And the two middle columns, sir?” said Strange.

“Even I am aware that there are acts where one gentleman takes the lead so to speak. This first column – S/N – will note where you were dominant. This second – N/S – will record where I was.” He blushed and cleared his throat. “So for instance last night’s entry would be ‘Act’ ah –“

“Frottage, unclothed, sir,” said Strange. “Two ‘Ts’”

“Exactly,” said Mr Norrell. “Then, since our efforts were mutual, I will place a tick in each middle column. Lastly we can make any notes we wish in the final column.”

“I understand sir,” said Strange. “So, also for last night we would have “’Act’ – well, the soldiers would call it a Hand Gallop. Then there would be a tick for S/N and nothing for N/S. As for the review I will leave that to you.”

Mr Norrell frowned, then wrote “good” in the fourth column and Strange bowed. “I hope to have the opportunity of improving that sir,” he said with a smile. “Now, to fill the first column.”

For an hour or so, Mr Strange paced about the library musing aloud on anything he could remember from tales told at school to his time in the Peninsula, to drunken nights in taverns, to fancies of his own. Mr Norrell scribbled away at his desk only pausing occasionally to check a spelling and once to ensure that he was not being teased (“No sir, it may be accomplished with patience and skill.”) Finally the paper was full enough for both of them.

“What first, sir?” asked Strange who had found that he had worked up an appetite

Mr Norrell studied the paper. “Continuing from last night suppose we attempt ‘Hand Gallop’ N/S?” he said.

“I should be delighted. For my part I should like to choose this,” – he pointed at the third item on the list.

“S/N or N/S?” said Mr Norrell.

“S/N to begin with I think,” replied Strange. “But I should be very happy to attempt N/S in a little while. Now, to your choice. If I sit in this armchair, we may place this cushion in front of it for you.”

“In the library, not the bedroom?”

“Yes, the library. We are far enough from the books.”

“Very well. Shall I remove my clothes?”

Strange considered this for a moment. “Your coat perhaps,” he said “and roll up your shirtsleeves a little. But for the rest I should be very pleased to see you dressed as you are and bent to such a task. Oh, and please remove the wig. You may take it, sir, that your wig is never required in these matters.”


	5. Chapter 5

And so their studies proceeded. The days (or nights) went by, the eggs in the kitchen diminished and the ticks on Mr Norrell’s paper grew more frequent. Soon it became obvious that Mr Strange would be meeting John Bloodbolt at the little bridge for new supplies. After supper, he and Mr Norrell went to the guest chamber to review their endeavours.

Strange stretched out on his stomach and contemplated the paper which was spread over the bed pillows, noting with pleasure that most entries were now marked ‘entirely satisfactory’ in Mr Norrell’s small neat hand. Mr Strange’s notes mainly consisted of whooping swirls and exclamation points. He waved his pen. “Have we anything to add?” he asked.

Mr Norrell, who was lying by his side, tutted at the site of the ink spluttering over the page. He could not protest too much however because Mr Strange had balanced the full inkwell on Mr Norrell’s naked backside before he could object and now he was trying to stay as still as possible.

“I think that we have been successful.” He said. “Obviously this had some imperfections.” He pointed to the line marked “Phantasie.” The tick was in the S/N column and the notes column read “some improvement required.”

“Once again, sir, I should not have attempted a Norman French and Yorkshire accent,” said Strange. “But given how long it took me to tease the idea out of you I think that my performance – acting, costume and otherwise - was overall a success. You certainly enjoyed drinking from the fount of all English magic.”

“I did,” conceded Mr Norrell. “No, I enjoyed it all. You are a very good tutor, sir.”

“You were a very studious pupil, sir.” Strange reflected that he might have anticipated that a man who had taught himself several centuries of English magic from books would do well in a new field of study, especially with so encouraging a teacher.

“Please move the inkwell, Mr Strange” said Norrell. “It is cold and heavy.”

Strange picked it up and set it aside. “I am sorry, sir,” he said.” I should not have used you as a writing desk. Although to be fair, that area has been abused far more vigorously with no complaint recently.” He kissed where the inkwell had rested and Mr Norrell buried his face in the pillows and blushed.

“Did we ever decide where was the best situation?” continued Strange? “This bed – the kitchen table – your desk?”

“Well, we will never decide now, as the page is full, and the eggs are almost ended” said Mr Norrell. “The fairy will return soon. I hope that your efforts will not have been in vain.”

“We will soon now by his reaction,” said Strange. “How should we greet him? Perhaps I could tie you to the pear tree like a lamb and see what wolves you attract so to speak.”

“No, Mr Strange.”

“Not even with a nice soft rope? You had no objection before.”

But it seemed that Mr Norrell was not in the mood to be teased. He turned to face Strange.

“Jonathan,” he said, “I want you to know that I am very grateful for what you have done for me and to have been your friend and comrade in this enterprise has been – most pleasant. But I am still sorry that I put you to the trouble.”

Strange pulled him closer. “It has been no trouble on my part, sir.” He laughed. “Just think, you might have done this years ago if you had been so minded.”

Mr Norrell buried his face in Strange’s shoulder. “As I have said before, there are many things that come easily to you that will never come easy to me. I do not think that you will ever quite understand that.”

Strange ruffled the top of his head by way of apology. “Is there anything that we might do now? Number eight? Number sixteen? I can easily run to the stables and...”

“All I wish is to fall asleep here with you sir,” said Mr Norrell. And so that was what they did until it was time to rise and dress and to walk down with the empty wicker basket to the little bridge where John Bloodbolt was waiting.

The fairy held out the usual provisions with a smile and Strange held out the pear. “You are happy to accept this?” he said.

“Oh yes,” said John Bloodbolt. Then his face twisted and Mr Strange saw that the fairy had rather more and sharper teeth than he had supposed.

“What have you done magician?” he said, looking towards Mr Norrell standing by the pear tree. “He is worthless now.”

“Worthless to you, sir,” said Strange, loading the provisions into his basket. “I shall see you again in due course.”

“And why should I ever come here again?” asked John Bloodbolt sulkily.

Strange smiled his Venice smile. “Because, sir, as a sensible fellow you will reflect on the fact that you now live in a home surrounded by orchards grown from pears given to you by a mad magician. Pears which of course you and your three wives and many children have all feasted upon and which you were pleased to accept from me. Who knows what I might tell the trees in your garden or the pips in their bellies to do should I be annoyed?”

John Bloodbolt bowed and said that he would be sure to return with provisions as usual. Then he hurried into the dark.

Strange walked back to the pear tree and nodded to Mr Norrell. “All settled, sir,” he said and they went back to Hurtfew together.

Some time later both magicians were sitting in the library, quietly reading. Strange laid down his book with a sigh.

“I am still troubled by a thought, Mr Norrell,” he said.

“What is it?” said that gentleman looking over his spectacles.

“Here is a very interesting passage in “Tales of Faerie and Christendom”. It seems that in 1214 a soldier returning from Normandy fell into Faerie through a well in the Yorkshire Dales and landed on a passing savage Wyvern, thus killing the beast. The fairies were so glad to be rid of it that they kept the man with them for a hundred years. While he was there, the soldier found that both the hand and the foot that he had lost in battle grew back. The fairies told him that such things often happened to Christians in their lands.”

“And?” said Mr Norrell.

“Well, if a hand or a foot may regenerate in Faerie, may not other qualities that were thought to have been lost?”

“What I think,” said Mr Norrell “is that you are reading from an abominable translation of an incomplete text and putting a very original interpretation on it.”

“Ah,” said Strange, abashed.

“However,” Mr Norrell continued, “I must concede that your imagination and originality are your greatest qualities as a magician, and so if you feel that it is necessary for us to resume...” He reached up, took off his wig and placed it on a nearby table.

Strange answered him directly by leaping out of his chair, picking up Mr Norrell and setting him on his knee. “But this time, sir, let us forget the list. Let us simply be together as the mood takes us. And let us kiss. I am very fond of kissing and we did not practice it much.” In a lower voice he said “I could not lose you Mr Norrell.”

“And here I am,” said the other and fell to kissing him.


End file.
